Chapter 6: Warpstone
The tunnel was broad and round, like a gigantic cylinder. Crystals and stalagmites periodically jutted from the floor in clumps, like grass breaking through the cobbles on a roadway. The party travelled in silence. Even Folco felt uneasy as they followed the huge tracks of the mysterious beast. It had left few footprints, instead a smooth trail as if it was dragging itself along the ground. Not that footprints would show up anyway. Occasionally a dull rumble would sound throughout the Ulricsberg and drifts of rock dust would float down from the ceiling. The light was dim, and Alaric had to rest regularly to conserve his power. At such times they sat in darkness, the only sounds were that of the wizard's laboured breathing. Eventually they came to a junction. A flickering light could be seen ahead. As Aethur approached he could make out a small campfire, around which several hunched figures huddled.
'What do you make of that, elf?'
Keeping their distance, the group readied their weapons. Alaric dimmed the magelight while Ladril narrowed his eyes, scrutinising the figures around the fire.
'They are Skaven,' he said cautiously. Folco cursed behind him. 'They are heavily armoured, and I am guessing they are warriors. There are pole-arms scattered on the ground nearby.'
'Storm-vermin,' the halfling spat. 'Well, at least they haven't seen us.'
Suddenly they all turned as many red eyes blossomed from the darkness and black-clad shadows leapt to the attack.
'I'm not sure that they haven't seen us,' Aethur growled, raising his hammer, before battle consumed them once more.
'Die-die, pink-skin!'
Aethur ignored the insult as he tore the first Gutter Runner's head from its shoulders. Turning, he swept his warhammer upwards into another's chin before its blade could make contact. The rat-thing was thrown into the air with a dismayed squeak and Aethur roared his amusement at his foe. Realisation kicked in and he glanced at his companions and then at the storm-vermin. He was sure they could handle themselves while he took out the armoured beasts. After all, it was his job to deal with the biggest threat. Clashing his teeth he rushed towards the black-furred creatures.
Ladril pulled back his bowstring and let fly. The arrow took the Skaven in the throat like a flying serpent. Its sword clattered to the stone floor as another ratman flung itself at him. Another arrow sent it to its doom, puncturing its shoulder. Before a third Skaven could close with him he had notched another arrow and sent it into the beast's skull, right between the eyes. For a moment the Gutter Runner stood still, then Ladril's booted foot shoved it backwards to roll in the dust.
Folco hurled one of his knives towards his assailant. The blade disappeared into the darkness as the Skaven dodged with inhuman agility. Then it was upon him, raking claws slashing at his body. The halfling ducked and weaved, closing his fist around the Skaven's ankle. Confused, it tried to slash at him from above but Folco yanked it from its feet and brought it crashing down. Pulling out another knife he didn't hesitate and stabbed downwards through the Skaven's heart. A set of claws closed on the back of his tunic and yanked him upright. He reversed his elbow into the beast's face, producing an audible crack and a squeak of pain. Smiling, he dropped to the ground, span and drove his dagger into his foe's eye.
The blade punched into Alaric's shoulder. Spinning around with a yelp of pain, he muttered words of power and a grey mist-daemon closed its spindly claws about the skaven's throat. Wrenching the creature away, it flowed over the Skaven and consumed it, throttling and twisting around its limbs. Blood flowing from his shoulder, Alaric gritted his teeth and growled a healing spell. Slowly, the flesh began to knit back together and the pain receded. He cast his eyes about for more Skaven, watching his friends battling against the beasts. Placing his back to the wall, he spread his arms wide and started chanting another spell.
Ladril unsheathed his sword in a blur of motion and parried the incoming blow. Fast as the Skaven moved, the elf was faster. Two strokes later the severed halves of the beast's torso fell apart. But numbers did count for something. Ladril felt hot blood coursing down his back as another Skaven slashed its talons in a wide arc. Grimacing, he turned as it raised its weapons again for another blow. The elf's blade stuck fast in its face, black blood spurting from the deep gash. Releasing his sword, Ladril stumbled backwards against the tunnel wall. Watching the dead rat-thing collapse, he realised a greyish shield was surrounding the party, protecting them from several more of the Gutter Runners. Outside they snarled in animalistic savagery, denied their kill.
'Alaric,' Ladril grunted, sliding ungainly down the wall, leaving a smear of blood. The wizard cursed inwardly. He held his palms outwards, maintaining the shield. When he was satisfied that it would hold, he shouted at the halfling.
'Folco! Get over here and help!'
The halfling was pushing a body away from him.
'Aethur is…'
'I don't care what Aethur's doing,' the wizard spat. 'Your cloak. Ladril's wounded.'
'Of course,' Folco said quickly. He knelt, tearing strips from his garment and aiding the elf. He knew he was a thief, but he did know a little about what to do in such circumstances. 'Don't worry my friend, this won't take a moment.'
'You're right about that,' Ladril groaned, turning over to lie on his stomach.
Aethur stood amidst the broken carcasses of the storm-vermin. He watched, entranced, as the green-tinted flames danced about a chunk of strange, black crystal at their heart. The rock glinted with visible power, green lines criss-crossing its surface like veins. Kneeling, he could feel the terrible warmth of the fire, intoxicating and enthralling. The campfire emitted no smoke. Blind to the fighting behind him, he stretched out a hand…
